


three a.m.

by connorswhisk



Series: omgcp friendship week 2020 [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, it's roadie time, prompt: late night conversations, this is such an underrated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Funnily enough, the only times Holster really sleeps badly is when he’s so exhausted he can’t think straight. If he’s had a particularly taxing day, and both his body and his brain are worn out like crazy, and all he wants to do is crash on his bunk and stay there forever? That’s when the insomnia kicks in.
Series: omgcp friendship week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922701
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	three a.m.

Funnily enough, the only times Holster really sleeps badly is when he’s so exhausted he can’t think straight. If he’s had a particularly taxing day, and both his body and his brain are worn out like crazy, and all he wants to do is crash on his bunk and stay there forever? _That’s_ when the insomnia kicks in.

Today was a lot. The whole team’s already fucking tired because they’ve been on the road for three days nonstop. But they lost their game tonight, and that was _really_ rough. They had been _so close,_ too…but in the end, it wasn’t enough to cinch it.

So, morale’s pretty low at the hotel right now, and no one’s in the mood for anything, which is unfortunate, because Holster just is not _sleeping_ right now.

He considers waking up Rans, who’s snoring in the bed next to him, but thinks better of it. He was really upset about the game (they all were), and Holster doesn’t want to throw off his balance right now. He needs his sleep.

_Yeah,_ but do does _Holster._

He looks over at the alarm clock on his bedside table - it’s almost three in the morning. Maybe he should just watch some random YouTube videos on his phone, or listen to the _Glee_ Season Three cast album back-to-back to distract himself, but then he remembers that his earbuds are somewhere at the bottom of his suitcase, and he really doesn’t feel like looking for them right now.

_Fuck it,_ he thinks, and gets out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and a pair of sweats and grabbing his glasses. _Might as well just try and get some fresh air._

The hotel lobby is empty, except for the clerk at the front desk who must have gotten stuck on the graveyard shift. Holster waves at her, to be friendly, but she just sort of nods back at him in return and goes back to her magazine.

He’s planning to stand outside for a few minutes, check his Twitter feed, breathe, and go back in, but that plan is thrown off course when he realizes that he’s not the only person out of bed this late at night.

“Jack?”

Jack looks up at him quickly, his shoulders tensing, but seems to relax a little bit when he sees who it is. “Oh. Hey, Holster.”

“Can I sit?” Holster asks, indicating the curb.

Jack nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

Holster does. He’s not really sure what to say - it seems like he’s interrupted Jack in the middle of some very deep thoughts.

“Um.” Holster coughs. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Jack shakes his head. “Not really. You?”

Holster exhales. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Ransom asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

It’s quiet for a moment. The air is chilly, biting at Holster’s face, made a little warmer with his roadie beard, but not by much. It’s silent. Really silent. Nothing but the wind seems to be moving at all. It’s kind of _eerie_ how noiseless everything is.

Holster knows Jack is out here for the same reason he is: he’s upset about the game. Holster wouldn’t mind talking about it with him, helping Jack feel better (and helping _himself_ feel better), but he feels a little awkward about it. He knows Jack pretty well after having played on a team with him for two and a half years, but they don’t really _talk._ Not about heavy stuff like this, anyway. That’s usually Shitty’s job; he and Jack are best friends, Holster and Ransom are best friends, and Lardo drifts between the four of them, seemingly fitting in anywhere.

But Holster also knows that Jack can get really stressed really easily, and he knows all about that, because his best bro is Justin Oluransi, the Living Coral Reef, and because of that, he knows how to diffuse stressful situations.

For the most part. He’s never tried it with Jack before. But he’s _got_ to try, right? Otherwise, what kind of fucking teammate would he be?

“I’m sorry about the game,” Holster says, and he hates how the words seem all the more real when he says them aloud. He doesn’t look directly at Jack, but he can see him digging his fingers into his knees out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, well,” Jack says, voice sounding bitterly brittle. “You win some, you lose some, eh?”

Holster shakes his head. “Dude, I can tell you’re upset about it. Don’t try to bullshit me. It’s ok.”

Jack sighs. “We weren’t _supposed_ to lose,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” Holster says glumly, scuffing his sneakers against the pavement. “I know we weren’t. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Jack stiffens. “I didn’t say - “

“You were thinking it,” Holster says casually. “I know you were. You always do.”

Jack swallows. “I’m the _captain -_ “

“And we still played a good game!” Holster exclaims. “We just fucked it up at the end, but it was still good.”

“ _I_ fucked it up at the end,” Jack whispers.

Holster glances over at him. He looks even more tired than Holster feels. His eyes are bloodshot, his forehead lined, and maybe it’s just the lighting, but right now he looks _older,_ more like Bad Bob Zimmermann than Jack.

“You didn’t,” Holster says seriously. “It wasn’t your fault. If anything, we _all_ fucked it up a little, and it all built up into one big fuck-up. But it wasn’t you. And we’ll do better next time.”

“Don’t you see?” Jack says louder, desperately. “I can’t - I can’t _lose_ games, Holster, that’s just not something I’m allowed to _do._ If I ever want to make it back to where I was, I - “ He swallows. “I need to do _better._ ”

Holster shakes his head. “You know you’re the best captain I’ve ever had, right?”

Jack laughs hollowly. “Yeah, ok.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve never had a captain who _gets_ hockey the way you do. It’s like you’ve been doing it your whole life. You _have_ been doing it your whole life, and you’re _good_ at it, and I know that if you asked anyone on this team, they’d say the exact same thing. Ransom thinks so. I _know_ Shitty thinks so. Even _Bitty_ would agree.”

Jack shakes his head. “I just need to - “

“Hey,” Holster says, knocking Jack’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t _need_ to do anything. Dude, you’re going to get back into the professional leagues _regardless._ You’re Bad Bob’s fucking _son!_ You’re so good at hockey, it should be illegal. You’re not a bad captain, you’re not a bad player, and _this isn’t your fault._ ”

Jack smiles then. He actually smiles, and the tension seems to leak out of his shoulders a little, just like it does for Ransom when Holster’s helping him study for his bio exams, and Holster knows that he’ll be all right.

“Ok,” Jack says quietly. “Ok, Birkholtz.”

Holster grins. “Fuck yeah, dude.”

Jack laughs to himself, and then asks, “Can I - Can I get a hug?”

Holster blinks. “A hug?”

Jack looks sort of embarrassed. “I don’t know, dude, you just give good hugs,” he says sheepishly.

Holster laughs. “Dude, I know. I was just surprised you wanted one. You’re usually a no-touching kind of guy.”

“I know,” Jack sighs. “But I’d really like one right now.”

Holster smiles. “Sure thing.”

As it turns out, Jack Zimmermann gives pretty good hugs, too, whether he knows it or not.


End file.
